


The Claw

by RoseAngel



Series: The Red Thread [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Arcades, First Meetings, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9577526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAngel/pseuds/RoseAngel
Summary: An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break. - Ancient Chinese beliefA series of alternate ways that John and Sherlock could have met. PROMPT FICPrompt #15: The idiot man ought to know that shouting at the arcade game did not make him any more likely to win.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks for Becca (LlamaWithAPen) for beta-ing!
> 
> Today's prompt comes from FanFiction.Net user Etmire T.

Someone screamed by the pinball machine.

John jumped at the sound, before looking over his shoulder, to the young boy who had just lost his game. When John had first gotten the job at the arcade, he was thrilled. He needed some sort of way to pay for rent and food while he finished his last year of his medicine degree, and working in an arcade seemed far preferable to working in retail or in hospitality like most of the people he studied with. Working in an arcade meant that he did not have to deal with angry customers, and the atmosphere of a place where people go to have fun was definitely preferable. However, the one big problem with the arcade was the noise. Children were either screaming with joy or throwing temper tantrums, and while the former was preferable, both were equally deafening.

At least the child's mother seemed embarrassed on his behalf. She offered John an apologetic smile as she tried to comfort the screaming kid. John smiled back at her, pretending not to be bothered, before looking around. He caught the eye of Mike Stamford, who was in the process of setting up the vacuum cleaner, and he cracked a smile at him.

Mike was the reason why John had gotten this job. They had met through university – both of them were studying medicine together – and John had mentioned to Mike on more than one occasion that he had been in need of a job. When the arcade that Mike worked at started hiring, Mike let John know, and even put in a good word with the managers.

It helped that the two of them got on well, and worked well together. It meant that the managers realised pretty quickly that they made a good team, and so it was common that they were put on shift together. Any shift that Mike was on with him was a good shift, because he enjoyed Mike's company. Shifts like tonight – the late, Friday night shift – were particularly pleasant, because it tended to be only the two of them on. The manager did not work on Friday nights, so there was no one around to tell them off if they took a moment to relax. Sometimes, if the arcade was quiet enough, they could even get away with a game of table hockey before closing time.

They did not have time for a game of table hockey tonight, unfortunately, because of how busy the arcade was. There was less than fifteen minutes left now before the arcade closed, and there were still people in the building. One group of five children (with an equal number of parents or caregivers) were occupying the table hockey game, as they had for the most of the night. It was one of the girls' birthdays, judging by the pink party hat that she was wearing, and spending Friday night at the arcade had been her idea for a party.

The only other person in the arcade who did not belong to the small party of children was a man, who looked to be in his early to mid-twenties. He was not the typical customer, John thought to himself. They got plenty of children and teenagers, but most of the adults who visited the arcade were there with children. This one, however, seemed to be here of his own accord. He had been here for twenty minutes or so now, playing the same game – the claw game. Of all the games that they had to offer, that was probably the most boring – the only point in playing it was to try to win one of the prizes, and they were only ever of value to children who desperately wanted one of the stuffed toys. Adults tended to know that there was a much easier way to get stuffed toys, and it was probably a lot cheaper, given the sheer amount of coins that people can spend trying to win a toy from the claw game over and over and over.

But, this man, for whatever reason, did not seem to know that there were easier and cheaper ways to win toys. He seemed rather determined to win one from the claw game. He had not given up in a good twenty minutes.

"Well, it's one way to spend a Friday night," John said, glancing over at Mike.

Mike grinned and shrugged his shoulders, wordlessly replying, 'Each to his own'.

Behind John, the toy fell out of the claw's grip again. John did not need to look over his shoulder to know that this had happened. The way the man yelled "No, no, _no_!" gave it away. John hid a smile.

"Do you think he knows that shouting at it won't make him any more likely to win?" he teased, and Mike smiled.

"I don't know, maybe it's the secret to success," he said.

John glanced over his shoulder again, to see that the man had pulled another coin from his pocket and was restarting the game again. "He's determined, I'll give him that."

"Ten pounds he goes home tonight empty-handed," Mike said.

John glanced at the clock – five minutes until closing time. Chances were, Mike would win this bet. However, there was something to be said for the way the man was not giving up, and although the claw game was difficult, it certainly wasn't impossible.

"You're on," John said.

The party of children and their mothers were finishing up with their game now. Whether that was because it was past the children's bedtimes or because the man at the claw game was causing commotion, John did not know. Either way, it meant that the families filed their ways out the door, and it left John and Mike alone with their single customer. This meant that there was not much else for John and Mike to do, which meant that they could get away with leaning against the counter and watching the man play the game.

The claw returned to the prize drop without a toy in its grip, but the man was not deterred. He pulled another coin from his pocket, and the game sung as it was restarted once again. They watched as the man gripped the joystick, guiding the claw over to one of the toys, and trying once more to pick it up.

This time, the claw did succeed in grabbing the toy. John could see, when the claw rose into the air, that there was a brown teddy bear attached to it. John could not help but note that the teddy bear looked tattered, compared to the other toys in the game. Perhaps that was part of its appeal.

The claw began its movement from the place where it had collected the toy to the prize drop, and for a moment, it really did look like the man was going to be successful. The toy was in the claw's grip, and John was beginning to think that he was going to go home at the end of the night being ten pounds richer.

Then, right before the claw reached the prize drop, the bear fell from its grip and landed in the pile of toys. The claw returned to the prize drop empty, and John felt a pang of disappointment. He had been so invested in the man's game. He had really thought that he was going to succeed.

"So close," Mike said sympathetically.

To say the man was not pleased was an understatement. He expressed his frustration with the game loudly. He yelled about the game being stupid and childish and undoubtedly rigged. Half of his comments appeared to be directed to the universe at large, while the other half seemed to be directed to the game itself, as though it could hear the man insulting it and would proceed to let him win.

When the man showed no sign of being ready to calm down after a good moment or two, John glanced over at Mike. It was closing time, now, and they needed the man to leave, especially if he was going to behave like an overgrown child.

The look on Mike's face said that he did not want to have to be the one to deal with the man's temper tantrum.

"I'll go talk to him," John said after a pause.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Mike asked. "He might just take his anger out on you."

John shrugged. "I think I can take on an oversized toddler if I need to," he said with a smile, and then sobered and added, "Seriously, though, I'll handle it before he starts kicking the machine."

Mike pursed his lips, looking like he was still unsure if John talking to the man was a good idea, but he nodded his head.

John moved out from the counter, and calmly walked over to the man's side. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

The man turned to him immediately, pointing an accusatory finger at the claw game. "It's rigged," he said.

"It's not, actually," John replied. "It's hard to win, but it's not impossible. A little girl won the dog toy two days ago."

John had said this in the hopes that it would calm the man, but it seemed to only inspire him to try again. He immediately pulled another coin out of his pocket, restarting the game once more. John frowned, glancing over at Mike, before looking at the man again. He gave the man another chance, but when the claw dropped the toy once more before reaching the prize drop, John spoke.

"Look, I do have to let you know that we're getting ready to close," he said. "We'll be open at nine tomorrow morning if you want to come back then."

"No," the man said, and then he pulled another coin out of his pocket.

"Sir..." John began, but the man shook his head shortly.

"I need to do this now," he said. "This is a matter of life and death."

"I think you're being a little bit dramatic."

"No, I mean that quite literally."

The game sung as it was restarted once more, and the man once again gripped the joystick, guiding it to the same, tattered-looking old bear. Now that John could get a proper look at it, he realised that it was the only toy of that appearance within the game. There were plenty of other toys, but that one tattered-looking bear looked quite out of place, alone.

Now that John could see it, he realised that it was not just designed to look like it was tattered and well-loved. It was tattered. Its fur was unevenly coloured, as though it had been dirtied and washed a number of times. It was missing an eye, and there were loose threads where that eye should have been. It did not look like a prize that would be worth even a single coin (should someone succeed in winning it on their first attempt). It did not look like it belonged in there at all.

"That's not one of ours," John said slowly.

"Marvellous observation," said the man.

"Then why is it in there?"

"Someone put it there."

John gave the man a slightly exasperated look. "Well, it wasn't put in there by anyone who works for us," he said. "It should not be in there. So why is it?" He paused for a beat, and then asked, "Is it yours?"

"Technically speaking, yes, it is intended for me," said the man. "But it is not mine in the sense that it belonged to me before now."

The man's answers just seemed to be leaving John with more questions. He looked over his shoulder at Mike, giving him a look that said 'I have no idea what's going on'. Mike's equally confused expression and the shrug of his shoulders said that Mike was having no more luck making sense of the situation than John was.

When the man failed, again, to grab the toy, John spoke. "If someone's put it there, then it's not technically our prize to let someone win. Let me grab the key, I'll open it up and get it for-"

The man cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "No, I need to win it," he said. "He'll know if I don't. He'll consider it cheating."

"Who?" John asked. The man ignored him, pulling yet another coin out of his pockets (had he stocked up on coins before coming?) and restarting the game again. This time, John put his hand over the joystick before the man could start. "Look, I need a good reason why I should let the arcade stay open, and let you stay here. So, you better explain yourself."

"You're wasting my time," the man said. "I told you, this is a life or death situation."

"Then explain _that_."

The man pursed his lips, an obvious expression of frustration coming across his face. John did not move his hand from the joystick, and after a moment, the game timed out, the claw descending where it was (still hanging above the prize drop). If the man had a good reason for being here, then John would pay him back the single coin that he had spent on the game that John had stopped him from playing.

There was a moment where neither of them spoke, both staring at each other in some sort of test of wills, but eventually, the man seemed to realise that John was not going to move his hand and let him go back to the game without some answers. So, the man took in a deep breath, and then started explaining himself.

"Consider it a treasure hunt, of sorts," he said. "There's a man who has been leaving puzzles, like clues telling me where to go next. The most recent clue has told me that I need to get that particular toy out of the game."

"And you have to win it? You can't just let me get it out for you."

The man nodded. "Precisely. It's against the rules."

"Okay," John said slowly, and then glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was past closing time now. He had really wanted to get out of here on time. "The toy will still be there tomorrow morning."

"It can't wait until tomorrow morning. This isn't a game, by your definition. The prize is the safe rescue of two children who have been kidnapped from their school."

John's eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard correctly. Now, I'm sure you recognise how important it is that I get back to the game right away."

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

"The police know. I'm sure they'll be here shortly – I did leave them a message informing them that this arcade was their next destination."

A part of John thought that this was far too insane. There was no way that the man could be serious. At the same time, however, surely no one would lie about something that extreme. Surely no sane human being would lie about children being kidnapped just so that they could play an arcade game.

John looked around the arcade, looking over at Mike (who, though still at the counter, was close enough to hear their conversation and was looking just as alarmed as John felt) before looking back at the man. "You keep saying about how opening the game up would be against the rules," he said. With the knowledge that there were two children being held somewhere, for an undetermined length of time, John did not need to ask what the punishment for breaking the rules meant. Instead, he asked, "How would he know?"

"His network is more extensive than you might expect," the man said. "His puzzles and clues have all served the purpose of showing that to us, proving to us that he has more resources than we might have originally been prepared for. He has contacts, for one. Anyone could be watching the building, watching to see that I am doing what he wants me to do." He tilted his head to the side, and looked up at the ceiling. John followed his gaze to the security camera on the corner. The man said, "He could easily be watching me play this himself."

John rubbed his hands over his face – and, of course, in doing so, he pulled his hand away from the joystick. The man did not hesitate to put another coin in the coin slot and restart the game. John made no effort to stop him.

John glanced over at Mike, and then looked back at the man. "I'm taking your word on all of this," he said. "If you're lying about this..."

"While I will not deny manipulating situations for the desired outcomes, I would not lie about this. I would not lie simply so that I could play a game as _stupid_ as this," – he punctuated the word 'stupid' by pressing the button on the game with a little more forcefully than necessary – "for my own enjoyment. I would not be playing this game if it were not absolutely necessary."

John took in a breath, and nodded his head. "Okay," he said. The man could stay here for as long as he needed. If children's lives were at stake, then that was more important than closing time.

Fortunately, they did not need to wait several hours after closing time before the man finally had success. The claw game was difficult, but with enough determination (and enough coins), anyone could win it eventually. It was about fifteen minutes after the time that they were supposed to close. John had flipped the sign on the door to make sure that no one else would come in, and he had told Mike that, if Mike wanted to head home for the night, John could handle this by himself. Of course, Mike had promptly replied that he wasn't going anywhere, which was probably partially because he did not want to leave John by himself with a man who could be dangerous (depending on how truthful he was being), and partially because this situation was more interesting than any of the things they could be studying if they went home for the night.

The claw descended into the pile of toys, and closed around the tattered bear. After so many near-successes, the bear had been moved into a position where it was more easily reached, sitting on top of the pile of toys and allowing the claw to grab onto it. The grip was precarious – as the claw began to move towards the prize drop, the bear slipped, hanging onto the claw by only a paw. But it was enough. The claw reached the prize drop and opened, and the bear fell down the chute.

The victory came more as a time for relief rather than a time for joy. John let out a sigh, but the man did not seem nearly as relaxed, not yet. He reached into his pocket – the same pocket from which he had been pulling out a seemingly endless supply of coins – and pulled out a pair of plastic gloves. John wondered if the coat's pockets were as bottomless as Mary Poppin's bag. The man put the gloves on before he reached into the prize drop and collected the bear. He held it as though it were something delicate and fragile, inspecting it from every angle. To John, it looked like a perfectly ordinary, well-loved teddy bear. He wondered if the man could see something he could not.

The sound of the door opening caught his attention, and he turned around to tell the newcomer that they were closed, before seeing that the newcomer was not a child who had come to play a game. It was a police officer.

The officer in question did not pay any attention to either John or Mike. His sights were immediately set for the man with the teddy bear.

"Sherlock," he said, and John took a step back, suddenly feeling like maybe the man was not to be trusted, maybe he was not the one following the clues sent by a criminal mastermind but instead one who worked with the criminal mastermind himself.

However, the man – Sherlock, apparently – did not appear at all alarmed by the presence of the policeman. "Ah, Lestrade," he said calmly. "It's about time."

"How many times have I told you, you can't keep running off like this."

"If I waited for you, you'd be investigating a murder instead of a kidnapping," he said, and then he held up the bear. "I believe this belongs to one of the children. He clearly believes that there is something we can do with it to lead us to him."

"Why would he give us a clue that could lead us to him? He's playing games with us."

"Yes, he is. And he wants his fifteen minutes of fame. He'll lead us to the children as long as we follow his rules." He pulled out a plastic bag from his pockets (John wondered, once again, if they were bottomless) and carefully put the bear inside. "I'm taking this to Bart's. Feel free to meet me there if you have nothing better to do."

"Sherlock—" the officer began, but Sherlock paid no attention to him. He walked straight past John, straight past the officer, and out the door. The officer looked exasperated for a moment, but then he followed.

The door swung shut behind them, leaving John and Mike in the empty arcade, the silence only broken by the music from the different games. John looked over at Mike.

"What... the hell just happened?" he asked.

"I have no idea," Mike said, and then pointed to the floor beside the claw game. "I think that fell out of the man's pocket."

John followed his gaze to what, at first, seemed like a scrap of paper. As he got closer, however, he realised it was not ordinary paper, but a photograph. He picked it up, frowning at it.

It was the claw game, though it was taken up close – too close – to the claw in question. It made it almost impossible to tell what it was. If John had not spent the past half hour or so staring at this game, he might not have been able to tell.

"He said that this man was leaving clues," he said to Mike. "This must have been the clue to come here."

He turned it over in his hands. On the back, in blue pen, were the following words:

_Have fun. Moriarty xx_

He stared at it for a moment, and then shook his head slowly. His life was never this weird.

"He said he was going to Bart's, right?" He asked Mike, and when Mike nodded his head, he said, "I better go return this."


End file.
